Lead Me Not Into Temptation

Part 11 - Wednesday

When Wednesday morning arrived, Jennifer set an early alarm and paid meticulous attention in the shower, cleansing every part of her body with a fragrant honeysuckle bodywash and proceeded to shave off every hair follicle on her legs and underarms, and most of her lady parts. She was not sure of Homeless James Franco's preference for that, but no one could complain about a neat and clean landscape.

Though she'd just be passing by, she still had to dress for work, but put on her prettiest black lace string bikini bottoms and a balconette bra first. It was still cold, now December, and she wore a velvety pair of black leggings that she topped with one of those faux layered tunic sweaters – a black sweater with faux gray snakeskin blouse collar, cuffs and tail.

After seeing The Younglings to the bus, she zipped up her black riding boots and after the yellow vehicle clanged by the house, she pulled out of the driveway.

There were no cars at Echo Hold when she arrived – everyone was notoriously late on Monday mornings – so she tucked her phone in the crevice of bricks hidden by the evergreen shrubs before making her way to Mariemont.

The Mariemont Inn was a boutique hotel that was built as the main centerpiece for the planned Village of Mariemont in the nineteen twenties. Its Tudor styling made it look like it had been plopped down straight out of Bavaria. In fact, the entire town square looked as such.

She parked in the lot behind the hotel, which also housed an expensive restaurant that she'd frequented with her late grandmother often. The Cynical One still called it the "restaurant with the bison head" as they would always make a point to visit the hotel lobby when they were dining.

But today marked the first time Jennifer would enter that lobby as a hotel guest. It was 8:40, twenty minutes before Homeless James Franco would arrive. She wanted plenty of time for her heartbeat to calm down before seeing him. Her hand, however, was still sweaty and her throat tight when she asked the person at the front desk for a room.

There was no suspicion in the friendly woman's face as she took the cash Jennifer gave her and exchanged it for a key to a room on the third floor overlooking the square.

She'd planned to visit the room first, set out the champagne she'd brought and fluff the pillows, but when she turned toward the elevator, the front door spun around and he stepped out.

Her breath caught in her throat, he was so handsome standing in the lobby with a bouquet of white daisies in his hand. He looked clean, no chin hair, no mustache, no wild hairs growing from his cheeks. He wore gray wool slacks, a white oxford, his army surplus boots and the olive drab coat with the flannel lining.

Neither one said a word with the front desk agent standing there, but he joined Jennifer at her side and together they approached the elevator. She pushed the button for the third floor and a shy smile grew on her face. Her heartbeat sped up again, but thankfully her hands were no longer sweaty.

"Let me," he said, and took the bag from her she had slung over her shoulder. It contained the champagne, cigarettes left from the carton she hadn't given to Valerie – these held surprise cash, too – a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, eyeliner. She'd packed some snacks in a separate bag at the bottom in case Homeless James Franco would be open to her sending him home with some food.

He noticed the bracelet on her wrist as he took the bag and smiled.

"I love it," she said.

"These are for you." He held out the bouquet and kissed her cheek. "I know you probably can't bring them home, but you can enjoy them here."

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Where are you even from?" she whispered.

"Blue Ash." His answer was accompanied by a shrug.